Definite Advantages
by aisucreamu
Summary: The Eleventh Doctor & Clara take the slow route in the Midwestern suburbs of the fifties after the TARDIS abandons them there. I do not own Doctor Who or any of its characters; if I did Matt Smith would've been paid an inordinate sum to keep him on one more year. Eleven/Clara.


There were definite advantages, the Doctor decided, to living in post-World War II U.S. than in Britain. The economy was doing much better, so the suburbs, where he and Clara were holed up for the time being, were booming. They were on the outskirts of a large Midwestern city, there was a chain grocery store within walking distance of their mid-century modern house, not to mention all sorts of other amenities like a florist's, a drugstore and a department store. Which accounted for the flowers, chocolates and wrapped gift the Doctor was juggling in his arms, as he searched for his sonic so he could open the lock on their house. He would knock, but he wanted to surprise Clara.

For some odd reason, the TARDIS had decided to abandon them in this place and time. They had stepped out of her, expecting to be on the French Riviera in the mid nineteen sixties, and as soon as they were both about ten feet away, she slammed her doors and took off for parts unknown. It was not the first time she'd done something like that, and the Doctor knew she'd return; it was just a matter of time as to when.

Once they'd established where and when they were, the Doctor went about getting them set up comfortably until the TARDIS got over whatever snit she was having (probably hadn't liked when he'd switched the settings on the console to make it easier for Clara to understand which toggle controlled what). With some quick flashings of the psychic paper, he assumed an identity, which got him a paying job and a decent furnished house paid for with company money. The psychic paper again got them a bank account, changes of clothes and a stocked pantry. This took less than a week, and soon they were settled into a routine, with him going off to "work" (he usually just wandered around the building looking official and making people jump) and Clara staying home, fiddling with the telly and trying not to be bored. She got a library card on their third day and made full use of it, so in the evenings, while he tinkered with broken gadgetry he picked up from the company's trash bin, Clara read out loud from whatever she had checked out. They were well into Dicken's The Pickwick Papers when what the Doctor quietly referred to as "the incident" happened.

Clara stopped reading abruptly, tossed the book onto the couch and burst into tears. The Doctor looked up puzzled from the old radio he was disassembling and blinked her direction. She'd been holding up so well until now; at least, that's what he'd thought. He came over and sat next to her, putting his arm around her.

"What's wrong? Are you hurt? Ill? Should I worry?" He nuzzled his nose into her hair and tugged her closer. She sniffled a bit, reached into her dress pocket and fished out a handkerchief, which she applied to her eyes and nose.

"No," she whimpered quietly.

"Then what's the matter?" He put his finger under her chin with his free hand, and turned her face to his. Her eyes were filled with sadness.

"It's just that…my dad's birthday was coming up. I was hoping to find him a gift on one of our trips so I could finally surprise him. He's…he's so hard to buy for, and I thought something unique would do the trick. He's tired of ties and men's cologne after all these years." She snuffled and wiped her nose again. A small hiccupping sob escaped her.

"Is that all? I'm sure we can find something very unique in this era to get him. A nice jumper or button down shirt should do. It would look retro in your time and be in pristine condition," he enthused. "We can go shopping this weekend if you like. We could even get him a bow tie."

"He'd never wear it," she laughed, and then she teared up again.

"Clara? What is it?" He leaned in closer to her, touching his forehead to hers. "You know I can't stand to see you upset. It hurts my hearts so."

"I'm…I'm sorry. I guess it's because I'm so afraid the TARDIS won't return and I'll be stuck here forever. I'll be old enough to be my own grandmother by the time I'm born," she lamented.

"She'll be back…don't you worry! I've never been stuck more than perhaps even a year in one place when she's disappeared. We'll get back to your dad in time to celebrate his birthday, and we'll take him a nice, snappy bow tie." The Doctor kissed her temple and gathered her in close again. "Now…dry your tears, and let's hear some more Pickwick Papers." He patted her hand, which was in a clenched fist on one of her knees.

Clara gave him a forlorn look. "What else is wrong?" he sighed; fervently wishing he could cheer her up. Her melancholy demeanor agitated him, because she normally was brave, strong, feisty and cheerful. An upset Clara meant something was seriously wrong.

"Mrs. Barlow was here today," she divulged. The Doctor stiffened. Mrs. Barlow was their neighbor across the street, and a bit of a busybody. She'd come over unannounced several times and nearly caught the Doctor in the middle of inventing something that hadn't been invented quite yet. Clara had to cover for him numerous times already. It was wearing thin.

"She wanted to know how we met…when we got married…where we honeymooned…whether you served…where I grew up." Clara stood up, wrapping her arms around her torso, and walked away from the couch. "I know we settled on a back story, but it gets tiresome trying to remember all the details. I stumbled over the meeting story and messed up the honeymoon. I'm sure she believes there's something fishy." She spun around and faced the Doctor. "I'm just exhausted from having to pretend to be husband and wife when I'm just your companion and you're just my…we're just…we're not a couple," she finished lamely. "I'm tired from lying so much."

He stood up and walked over to her, his hands reaching out for her. He placed them on her elbows as she put her hands on his chest. "You know why we decided on pretending to be married. It worked before with Mrs. Gillyflower in Yorkshire. It's because we…we're too physically close…to just be something like brother and sister or cousins. People would talk more if we tried that," he reasoned.

"I know," she sighed, looking up into his face. He gazed down into hers, and was startled with the sudden desire to kiss her lips. He blinked and swiftly turned from her. He'd been doing so well with holding that impulse in…

"Tell you what," he said, twirling around towards her, "let's go shopping on Saturday and get your dad the most fifties styled jumper we can find. And a bow tie to match! Then we'll find him a card at the drugstore. He'll be pleased at how retro he looks without the smell of mothballs on the jumper."

He was glad to see a smile spread across Clara's face again. It was like the sun coming out after the rain. His hearts did that jumping motion they'd been doing a lot more of lately whenever she did things like that.

"All right," she said. Stretching and yawning, she turned to go to the main bedroom where she slept. "I think I'll turn in early, maybe read a bit. See you in the morning, Doctor."

He walked over to her and gave her a kiss on her head. "Goodnight, Clara." He watched her until she closed the door to her room.

Turning with a frown back to his work spread out on one end of the dining room table, he gave the incident some thought. The worry over her father was natural; the fear of getting stuck here was also natural. It was also a concern of his. He hadn't been lying when he'd said the TARDIS had abandoned him a little too long once before. But it hadn't even been more than three months. It was on Hvreckesh Alta, and he had managed to stay sane during that time by helping the locals design and install their first indoor plumbing system. It had really been a matter of self-preservation that had driven him to do it.

But now…being expected to wait longer than three months…with nothing more to do than try to kill time? He was already feeling antsy from inactivity. He could tell by the fact he was tearing things apart more than putting new things together.

But actually the wait wasn't even that unpleasant…as long as Clara was here with him. He normally didn't do domestic. It was not his thing. And yet, here he was, playing at domestic with Clara. Nine-to-five, slippers and wife at home, all that. Somewhere deep inside himself he had a sneaking suspicion that it was more to do with Clara being here than his actually liking drying the dishes or taking the trash bins out.

Clara…he turned and looked towards the bedroom door again. She didn't like the ruse of pretending, however. Pretending to be his wife. Pretending they were married. Pretending they were a couple.

To be perfectly honest, he didn't like it either. He was tired of the pretense as well. He'd been tired of it for some time, actually. Ever since Trenzalore…ever since he'd rescued her from his timeline…he'd felt like something had changed between them. The affection they'd shown each other before seemed tame to the closeness they had now. They did everything but kiss…and the Doctor knew it wouldn't be long before he'd be breaking that tabu with her.

Everything he'd had with River was over. They'd had their trip to Darillium before he'd even met Clara's echo in Victorian London. He'd said goodbye to her data ghost in his tomb on Trenzalore. He may as well be calling himself a widower again. He was a free man.

But he and Clara…still pretended like there was some kind of line they must not cross. They were acting like there was something still standing in their way to prevent anything from developing between them. They were close…but wary of becoming closer.

The Doctor squared his shoulders. It looked like it was up to him to break up the standoff. He knew how deeply his affection for Clara ran; he had a pretty good idea it ran just as deeply in her towards him. She just needed the right reason to cross that line. And he knew just how to get her to do it.

Tomorrow. Tomorrow would be the day that everything between them would change…for the rest of Clara Oswald's life…and for the rest of the time he got to spend it with her.

The Doctor hummed to himself, pulling a piece of paper and a pen out of his deeper on the inside pocket, and began to write a list of the things he needed to do on his lunch break tomorrow…

And so here he was. Tomorrow had come; he found his sonic and unlocked the door. Stepping quietly into the house, he was relieved he hadn't given in to Clara's wishes for a dog, as it was certain if they'd had one he wouldn't be able to sneak up on her and surprise her like he had planned. He turned and closed the door as gently as possible, all the while listening for her whereabouts in the house.

The sound of singing off-key reached his ears from the kitchen. He heard her running water in the sink. He could smell the scent of vanilla in the air. She must've been baking. At least it wasn't burnt this time. He smiled and tiptoed across the hall into the dining room, and towards the kitchen beyond.

He walked into the kitchen, and Clara turned around. She was wearing a rather frilly apron over her full-skirted dress. She looked very feminine. One could hardly mistake Clara Oswald for someone male of her species, and normally when she traveled in the TARDIS she dressed in feminine skirts and dresses. But for some reason, this fifties style dress plus the ruffled pink apron (it had a print of little red bow tied ribbons on it…he wondered where she'd found it) was ratcheting up her womanly appeal to unknown heights. The sight of her in that very feminine, frilly outfit did things to his hearts that she previously hadn't accomplished. He swallowed hard.

She was holding a tray of cookies in her oven mitted hands, and a smile of triumph lit her face up. "Look!" she gleefully exclaimed, "I managed to find a recipe for something similar to jammie dodgers, and this pan of them didn't burn!" Then her eyes landed on the flowers, candy and wrapped gift, and her expression changed to one of curious surprise. "Are…are those…for…" she began, but the Doctor didn't give her a chance to finish. The flowers were tossed from one hand, the wrapped package dropped unnoticed to the floor and the chocolates (fortunately they were well-wrapped) followed. In one swift movement he crossed the room, pulled the cookie tray from her hand, flung it onto the stovetop before his hand could get burned, and pulled an astonished Clara into his arms.

She was able to let out one little squeak of shock before his lips collided with hers.

Clara had known the Doctor was likely to have kissed people before; he'd been married at least three times (that she knew of) and was over 1,200 years old…so these lips presently adhered to her own had to have had experience somewhere at some time. She just didn't realize how much considering how skittish he generally had been at physical affection. But now, with his mouth firmly attached to hers, she was getting far more than she'd even imagined. Who would have put the Doctor down for such a passionate kisser? Clara's knees were slowly giving out from under her, and nothing except for his arms around her, his lips pressed fervently to hers and the frantic beating of her own heart seemed to exist in this universe. She melted into him and sighed.

After what seemed like an eternity of just the two of them in their own little world (it was probably more like a minute or so), the kiss ended. Clara looked up into the bemused face of the Doctor (unknown to her, she mirrored his expression) and breathed out, "why? What was—"

Leaning down and kissing the side of her face, the Doctor murmured, "you looked so adorable…and you made me jammie dodgers." He trailed more kisses down her neck, and Clara half-closed her eyes in ecstasy.

"I'll make you jammie dodgers every day of your life if you keep this up," she purred.

Abruptly he pulled his head back up. He backed away from her and for a brief second Clara was afraid she'd said something horrendous. But he took her hands in his, and held them firmly between the two of them. His face took on a serious mien.

"I know you've been unhappy. The situation we're in is far from optimal. We're stuck in a time and place we're unfamiliar with, and I've made you pretend to be something we're not. I got you the flowers and candy to make up for that, " here he leaned down to the floor and picked both up, as well as the wrapped gift. "I wanted to cheer you up."

Clara giggled, taking the flowers and candy from his hand. "Red roses…and are those chocolate creams? How sweet…you remembered," she beamed. But before she could put the flowers in water, the Doctor surprised her again by dropping down on one knee, and holding up the remaining wrapped package. Befuddled, Clara blinked at him until she noticed the size of the gift was as big as a ring…box…

He lifted his green eyes to her round brown ones. "Clara Oswald…would you do me the honor of making this proper...and marrying me?" He handed her the gift.

Involuntarily Clara dropped the roses and chocolates, and with shaking hands she unwrapped the present. Inside was indeed a velvety ring box, a deep TARDIS blue. She opened it to find a diamond wedding set nestled in white satin. With a gasp her eyes flew back to the Doctor's, and she snapped the box shut. "YES!" she yelled, diving down to grab him around the neck and hold tightly to him. "Oh yes, yes, I will marry you, yes, yes, yes!"

He stood up and she hung onto his neck firmly. He bent down and kissed her lips again, softly this time, but with enough tenderness and pressure to make Clara's toes curl. With his lips still on hers he whispered, "how soon?"

"Oh, someone's keen," Clara teased. When he didn't blush or deny it, Clara blushed for him. "Um. Did you want to wait until we got back to my time, or did you want to do it here in this time?" she asked shyly.

"I'd like to do it as soon as we can," he replied simply. "I don't feel I can keep up a deceit with you any longer, and I'd much rather we really were husband and wife from now on, or as soon as we can manage it."

And so Saturday found them, after their shopping trip for Clara's father's birthday gift, on the doorstep of a local justice of the peace. Clara wore the same dress the Doctor had kissed her in (sans the apron) and carried a bouquet of eleven red roses—the twelfth one from the dozen affixed to the Doctor's suit as a boutonniere. Afterwards they walked home, and the Doctor carried Clara over the doorstep.

Once inside, he set her down, so he could begin kissing her properly, long and languid. She reached up and untied his bow tie. He picked her up again and the master bedroom received them, as they finally put it to the use it had been designed for. The Doctor would no longer be sleeping across the hall in the guest room. He and Mrs. Smith had things to attend to on what had once been Clara's lonely double bed.

Sunday morning sunshine streamed into the master bedroom and slanted across a set of tangled sheets. Clara blinked as her eyes focused on the blue sky outside the window. Turning she snuggled into the Doctor's bare chest, cuddling up closer to him.

 _Husband_ …she thought. _He's really my husband now. I married the Doctor._ She listened to his two hearts beating a quiet, soothing rhythm. _I married an alien. A real, proper alien._ It sounded like the title of some B-grade movie made during the fifties. "I Was An Alien's Bride." She giggled, and startled herself when it turned into a snort, then gasped when she realized she was waking him up.

The Doctor turned toward her with a murmur she couldn't make out, then sleepily opened his eyes. He looked down at his wife, nestled against him. He pulled her closer still. "Good morning, Mrs. Smith," he smiled, and kissed the top of her head.

"Good morning, Mr. Smith," she responded, then launched herself up until she was on top of him, and kissed him soundly. Things took a decided turn in a more interesting direction, and for a while, all that could be heard coming from the master bedroom were the sounds of a husband and wife in the throes of marital bliss.

Later, in the kitchen, she made tea while he flipped pancakes. He was simply dressed in an undershirt and pajama bottoms, and she was in her nightie and robe. It felt so undeniably domestic—exactly what neither one of them thought they would ever want—and yet so undeniably perfect. Every now and then she would walk up to the back of him, wrap her arms around his waist, and hold on tightly. The third time she did this he turned around and kissed her. Clara felt like life could not get much better than this. She was with her beloved Doctor and they were joined for life (at least, as long as her life). She laid her head on his chest, listened to his hearts, and thought she could stay right here forever if the TARDIS never came back.

Just as he turned, still in her embrace, to flip the pancakes, they both heard a sound from out in their backyard. For a second it didn't register—and then the Doctor dropped the spatula, and pulling himself out of Clara's arms, ran for the back door. Following him, she staggered out to see the TARDIS materializing inside one of the flower gardens.

The Doctor turned to her. "Go back inside and grab everything you want to take with you. I'll be right behind you. We don't dare give her a minute—she might take off again. I don't dare go inside her alone, she might take off without you. Quick!"

Clara scrambled back inside, and ran for the bedroom. She threw open the closet door, and yanked out the outfit she'd been wearing when they'd arrived here a little over a month ago. Quickly she put it on. The Doctor was dressing into his normal tweeds and bow tie as well. As he put his shoes on, she looked over the dresses she'd bought while they were here. Deciding rapidly, she grabbed the one she'd got married in, as well as the apron she'd been wearing when he proposed. She nabbed her father's gift (a smart fifties style grey button down shirt and a very retro birthday card), the velvet box her ring had come in, and their marriage certificate. Scrambling into the kitchen, she found the recipe for the substitute jammie dodgers. She hated leaving the library books, but sooner or later someone would come into the house and find all they left behind. Perhaps they'd return the books to the library.

Hearing the Doctor yell "Hurry!" from outside the back door, she ran to join him. He was standing in front of the TARDIS, anxiously waiting for her. Once she was by his side, he rammed the key in the lock, opened the door and pulled her in. As she slumped against the doors, he dashed over to the console and took over the controls. They took off into the vortex, and Clara slipped to the floor with the motion, dropping everything she was carrying. Once the jolting stopped, the Doctor came over to her and helped her pick up things. He smiled at her choices. Clara looked up at him apprehensively. She lifted her left hand, with its diamond wedding band set on her ring finger, and wiggled it at him.

"Does…this still mean anything…or…was that just for that time…?" she asked, worry and fear vying for supremacy on her face.

"Oh Clara…" he breathed, taking her hand and kissing it. "I meant every word of those vows…this is permanent. You are my wife now, wherever and whenever we are in time and space." He bent down and kissed her. Once the kiss ended, he picked her up in his arms and carried her down the stairs, still holding the few things she'd treasure forever from their month in the fifties. As he crossed the threshold into what was once his room but would now be theirs, Clara smiled up at him.

"That button down shirt from the fifties isn't the only surprise I'm going to bring my father for his birthday," she smirked.

The Doctor gave her a seductive look. "It might take us a long time before we get around to celebrating his birthday with him…are you okay with that?"

Clara gave him a bewitching look in return. "I've always liked the idea of long honeymoons."

Much later on, the Doctor told her the TARDIS had run off to refuel in Cardiff, of all places. There was a spot where the rift energy was near the surface, and she liked to stop and recharge herself there periodically. Why she left them in the Midwest in the fifties remained a mystery.

Clara had her own theory. One night, while the Doctor slept, she wandered up to the control room and leaned on the console. "Pretty sure you dropped us off because you got tired of us yearning over each other," she speculated to the machine. "You just wanted us to sort ourselves out, didn't you? Fancy yourself quite the matchmaker, don't you?"

The TARDIS remained silent. Clara walked over to the stairs, headed back to their bedroom. Turning around, she smiled up at the column in the center of the room.

"I gave him to you, so you gave him to me. Now we're even," she winked. The TARDIS beeped, and the room glowed golden. Clara nodded and walked away.

In the emptiness, the TARDIS hummed to herself, deep in space and time. Her thief and her benefactor slept safely away, deep inside of her inner recesses, and all was right in the universe.


End file.
